


Somewhere Over the Rainbow

by Effluvium



Series: Emotional Excuses [4]
Category: Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Hurt Peter, Hurt Peter Parker
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-15
Updated: 2017-11-15
Packaged: 2019-02-03 01:53:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12738639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Effluvium/pseuds/Effluvium
Summary: He didn’t look up.  He suddenly didn’t seem so innocent anymore, and that hurt her, hurt her more than Tony would ever begin to understand.





	Somewhere Over the Rainbow

**Author's Note:**

> I honestly wanted to wait longer to release this, but after I finished writing it a few days ago I just couldn't stand to let it sit in my Drive any longer. Out of every story I've written in the _Emotional Excuses_ series, this is by far my favorite.

She didn't know what to think of him, at first. Didn't know why the small face and brown hair and round, chestnut eyes had made it to the big, dark, scary room. There was nothing there that told her that he should have been the boy to break Tony down, nothing special that struck her in the gut. He was just a boy from Queens with gelled hair and pale, pale skin.

"Don't pull your punches."

"I'm not _pulling my punches_." There was real frustration in his words right there, something she hadn't heard from him before. And suddenly, he was right; he _wasn't_ pulling his punches and it was terrifying, the power behind the dark eyes _punching through her_.

"Use your surroundings to your advantage, Spider-Man."

He huffed, quietly, flipping away from her kick and dodging his way to the back wall, where he climbed it and swung with grace and agility, avoiding every punch, taser and kick thrown his way. The room was gigantic, providing for multiple play-style combinations and a million different routines; there was a reason Tony designed his own toys.

"You can't dodge forever, Spider-Man." She kept saying his name, knowing it bothered him, knowing it was firing him up. She was impressed he hadn't lashed out yet, but the entire ordeal was becoming tiring and bland, and she forced herself to demand him, the sixteen-year-old protege that Tony just so happened to pick up from a rundown house in Queens just about two years prior.

_There's a lot more to him than you'll ever see, Natasha._

He kicked her in the gut, smashing her innards momentarily, knocking the wind out of her in one gracious sweep. She fell to the floor, breathing hard, holding her left arm delicately around her waist and shooting a fourth taser, hitting him hard in the chest.

He fell from the air he'd been flying through, hitting the ground with a sickening _crack_ and lying there, motionless, seemingly immobilized and hurt. Her green - _blue_ \- eyes widened momentarily, just barely in diameter, the shock and fear running through her, showing for no more than a second before she chose to walk over, somewhat quickly, and help him up.

"Kid -" He grabbed her arm, twisting it and throwing her one-twenty-five pounds over himself with ease, once again ridding her lungs of air. She immediately spun on her back, kicking his arms together painfully and throwing him against the front wall, near the door; then she stood, huffing slightly, and slid under him, kicking him again and again until he went back to dodging.

Natasha had never really been put up against such an opponent, usually downing them in the first five minutes. He was strangely quiet, had skirmished with her multiple times before this day, before December 4th. It was odd because, by then, she'd grown used to his constant bickering, the muttering, the quips and taunts that usually didn't hold through to the end of the fight.

It wasn't snowing outside, something that had provided him with a little bit of a quicker arrival at the facility and tons more time to practice with her. Tony wasn't there most of the time, and when she'd asked him why, he'd said it was _none of her business_ and that _all she needed to worry about was the kid_.

That trust was strange, because he didn't trust _anyone_ , not after November's end.

"Spider-Man, are you alright?"

Nothing. More punches. More dodges. More airless gasps for air.

"Kid, Tony told me that I needed to keep you level-headed, and you sure as hell aren't that right now."

He'd been quiet about the whole thing, talking about trying to keep Peter safe talking about getting closer [but not too close], and that he'd be talking to his friends and May for the next couple of weeks, trying to grow more familiar with them, trying to become _their_ friends.

It hadn't worked so well with the girl, and it's honestly not that surprising, what with her being a writer, an artist, interested in the medical field and President of the Debate Club at idtown. She honestly didn't know what Tony thought he'd be able to get from her.

There was a sense of familiarity with the girl and her cautiousness, something that clicked when Tony had gotten back from their second visit, the way his face had fallen and his eyes had drooped. There was detail in his face that hadn't been there before, a sadness and serenity in his wrinkled expression that made him seem four times his age and much to wise ot be schooled by a fifteen-year-old protege.

An elbow to her face threw her back into reality, her reflexes just barely allowing her to dodge it and regain her balance. She grabbed it and threw it back at him, nearly making him punch himself if not or his own speed, which ended up with ihm cartwheeling and twisting her in a painful, dizzying loop and throwing her onto the ground, backing up quickly, almost stumbling.

"Christ, kid...." Natasha had trouble keeping eye contact with him, her head pounding in awareness with the situation. "Are you alright? Really, you seem off -"

She chose then to leap, knowing it would catch him off-guard and that he wouldn't be able to attack in response. He blocked her arm with his forearm, protecting his face and flipping away, hunched over and mumbling, a troubled expression on his face as she kept pursuing.

"Don't ever let your guard down."

_"He's shy."_

_"No he isn't. Have you heard him talk?"_

_"That's not him, Nat."_

"Stop...."

_"No need to be so poetical, Tony. He's quite the loud kid."_

_"Only when he wants to be."_

_"Well, obviously -"_

_"He's not always that happy."_

"What? Didn't hear you, kid." Another punch, this time thrown down midair with his own hand, causing no harm to herself.

_"No one's ever always happy. That's common sense."_

_"But kids are different, Nat, okay? Him especially."_

_"He doesn't seem that special to me."_

_"No one's special to you. That's why you're just a good fighter, and he isn't."_

"Stop." He was still quiet, but there was more force behind his voice. it wasn't clicking with her yet, though, and that was her biggest mistake.

_"What do you want me to do with him?"_

_"Make it so that he can keep himself alive, so that he won't always have to rely on us."_

_"You want me to burn his innocence?"_

_"His innocence makes him a benevolent fighter." He coughed, looking at her, brown on green and absolutely menacing. "He can't kill, and I don't want him to break if he's forced to."_

_"Stop!"_ Her fist suddenly froze, inches from his face. He was looking at her with dry eyes and furrowed brows, holding her clenched hand around his strangely thin fingers, dominant arm shaking with effort and neck veins bulging with stress.

"Peter?" His name felt weird on her tongue as he pushed her back, making her stumble slightly. The room was smaller then, darker, and the ceiling fans made the air too cold, too personal for either of them to withstand. "Peter -"

"Just _stop_." He backed away from her, eyes big and wide and terrified, arms raised warily and head hung. "Natasha, please, stop. I can't _breathe_."

There was more to it; she knew that immediately. All that filled the room for the next few minutes _was_ breathing, a ragged, horrifying sound that brought out too many realities to keep track of, too many truths in the lies she'd been throwing at him.

Natasha didn't like the feeling radiating off of him. She hated the fact that he was scared of her, how he was backing up like a cornered beast, shackles raised and ready to run like there was no sun to follow, like all the stars had fallen. It reminded herself of Bruce, of the way he _couldn't_ stop, _couldn't_ control himself, _couldn't_ fear -

_"Hey big guy, the sun's gettin' real low...."_

She knew better than to say it to Peter, because if he hated anything more than showing his weaknesses, it was recieving pity. She'd learned this after the parking garage incident and the unnerving amount of broken bones in his body; Tony had been especially motherly throughout the entire ordeal and Peter had avoided him like a squirrel running from a hawk in the following weeks.

She watched with wide eyes as he sunk to the floor, drawing his knees to his chest and resting his forehead against the shaking appendages, crossing his arms on the caps and rocking. His suit seemed darker in that moment, seemed tighter, squeezing him, cutting off his breath.

_"Somewhere over the rainbow, way up high, there's a land I heard of once in a lullaby."_

He had an oddly soft voice and Natasha suddenly felt the need to sit, to get on his level. There were trembles, lots of them, in his voice, twisting the lyrics into something soft and painful and goddamn if she _cries_ -

_"Somewhere over the rainbow, skies are blue, and the dreams you dare to dream really do come true."_

She breathed, trying to steady herself, knowing that sitting down would be better for the both of them, knowing it would make them both more comfortable, but she couldn't _quite_ bring herself to submit to the words, no matter how calming they were -

_"Have you ever heard him sing, Nat?"_

_"Tony, I punch and kick him every time I see him."_

_"You may be surprised."_

_"Tony -"_

_"He has a really nice voice."_

She sat, and her eyes grew wet.

_"Someday I'll wish upon a star, and wake up where the clouds are far...."_

Her voice didn't work, and for a moment, she couldn't breathe in, couldn't draw air into her lungs and a sound into her voice.

_"Behind me."_

There were days she'd practiced her own lullabies, especially after figuring Bruce out. She'd level her voice and create different personas, throw her words onto the paper and writing on her brain with permanent marker. She'd figure out how to make them longer, when to make them shorter, when to make it personal and when to back off, to quiet, to let the sun figure it out for her.

_"You really love him, don't you, Tony?"_

_"I think so, Nat."_

_"You told me you wouldn't let him get close to you - said it was dangerous, especially for him - and that I should do the same."_

_"You'll learn to love him, too, and maybe he'll return the favor."_

Her legs were crossed now, criss-cross-applesauce. Childish glee as she shut down her voice and amplified her thoughts.

_"Where troubles melt like lemon drops, away above the chimney tops...."_

She'd wondered how he knew the lullaby; his parents had died long before memory had started to kick in.

_"That's where you'll find me."_

Maybe it was May? Ben? She hadn't kept her promise, had gone through his files and seen everything, along with everything underneath the fold of the government's hold - Ross could hide nothing from her.

_"What's his home life like?"_

_"Fine. A bit closed off, I think."_

_"How so?"_

_"When I went to see him? To recruit him?" His face flattened. "There was an atmosphere there that no one would've wanted to live in."_

Dangerous things come after tragedy, a lot of it hanging in the air with uncertainty. Tony taught her that guilt is the most dangerous killer, the most effective poison, and that Peter was filled with it. Filled to the brim.

_"Somewhere over the rainbow, bluebirds fly, birds fly over the rainbow."_

It had been something she'd regulated when training with him, never using personal attacks, never bringing up family like she did with the others, even if it was always in a joking manner. She never gave him a reason to hate himself even more than he already did in the moment, while trying to find a way to rid him of that self-hate at the same time.

_"Why then, oh, why can't I?"_

Sam had only seen him once, but even he had softened at the chestnut eyes. He had backed down, down so far he was almost as calm as Rhodey when in the face of a child. It'd been a particularly bad day for Peter, so the two of them had hogged the couch, watched scary movies, played Mario Kart, and practice with Romanoff had been cancelled - and not to be rescheduled.

_"If happy little bluebirds can fly, beyond the rainbow...."_

Maybe practice today should have been cancelled, too.

_"Then why, oh, why can't I?"_

...

...

...

...

...

...

Dead silence. It was long and painful and the widow's patience had worn out, had dried out, had cracked under the suspense and pressure.

"Peter? Do you... want to talk to me?" Natasha knew she still had to get it out of him, knew that while a song calmed his muscles, it didn't calm his thoughts. "About what's bothering you?"

He didn't look up. He suddenly didn't seem so innocent anymore, and that hurt her, her her more than Tony would ever begin to understand.

"I'm not going to ricochet," she amended, voice quiet. "Practice today should have been over long ago. I'm sorry for pushing you."

Rotting silence.

"I'll sit here all day, Peter, just you -"

"I killed someone yesterday."

And there it was. The shocking reality, the great secret, the beast part of the show. The climax of the story, the heartbreaking truth, the page-turner, the punchline -

And it was the last thing she expected, when in reality, it should've been the first.

"That's..." _it...?_ Natasha knew better than to say that, knew it would end up in a closed conversation and that he'd just leave and she'd never get the answers she just nearly [unwillingly] cried for, just broke down for. "Who was it?"

"I don't know." Peter closed his eyes - she didn't remember him opening them - and rose his head, squeezing them shut in a painful-looking manner, sounding so distraught it hurt. "I don't _know_. Isn't that crazy? How can I... how can I do that to someone, without even knowing them?"

"So you would kill someone if you knew them?" _Wrong wrong wrong_. She was so incredibly off her game it hurt to think about, hurt to realize just how bad she was failing to respond properly to him, hurt to realize just how little help she was in this situation. How did she ever let him throw her off like this?

_Bruce, where are you? You're so incredibly kind._

"No, of course not, I just -" he gasped, as if he hadn't been breathing for the past minute, "how can I do that? I didn't mean to, I swear, he just... he was going to... I couldn't... he...."

"Peter -"

"He was going to rape her."

The ceiling fan was too loud. Her ears were ringing, but from what?

"Kid...."

"I... he was tying her _down_." The horrifying reality was there, buried in his words, coming out in spews of panic and shame and terror. "He was _gagging_ her and he was _taking advantage_ and I just... I went red. I went red, like my suit, but darker? I didn't even... I didn't even _mean_ to, Natasha - I could have gotten him to the police, he would have been in prison for the rest of his life, and she would've been just find, but I...."

_"His innocence makes him a benevolent fighter."_

"I killed him. I just... I flew. I flew and soared and I snapped his neck, Natasha, and the sound was _sickening_."

_"He can't kill, and I don't want him to break if he's forced to."_

"And then... and then I almost killed _you_ , Natasha, I was... I wasn't letting go, and I just... I just had to stop, and so I stopped _you_."

"Peter, you wouldn't have killed me."

"Yes, I would've -"

"You can't beat yourself up over this." She hardened, just slightly, but didn't raise her voice, didn't intimidate. "That man deserved what he got, even if you didn't mean to give it."

"But he... he could have had family." Peter looked so scared, so lost, so stressed, and he was shaking his head and his hands were trembling as he stared at them. "He could've had kids, a son, a daughter, he - and if he did, Natasha, they didn't have a dad to come back home to them, no matter how horrible he was."

_Click_. The entire ordeal was striking Peter with familiarity, shocking him and hitting personally, just like none of her punches had. This was what she'd avoided in their training, the hard hitting remarks, the low-blows, and this is why she'd avoided them.

But maybe she shouldn't have.

"Peter," her voice was softer as she approached him, making herself smaller so as to provide him with a more comfortable stance. "Things happen. Your guilt, it's understandable, but you have to realize that sometimes harsher actions are necessary, whether they are put forth voluntarily or not. But you can't let it eat you apart."

_"You'll learn to love him, too, and maybe he'll return the favor."_

"You don't get it, I can't get him out of my head, I can't stop seeing his face; I can tell you every detail, every crevice, Natasha." His voice shook, alarming her as he began tipping into her. "I can still see his eyes, how blue they were, and then the _white_...."

He collapsed into her as she put her arms around him, allowing them both to carefully crumble to the floor in silence. He was out of breath, restless, anxiety eating away at his thoughts as she rocked him, somehow not feeling strange because, in a way, this was what she thought of when Bruce was big and terrifying and green.

_"Hey big guy, the sun's gettin' real low...."_

"It's alright, Peter." Natasha said quietly, whispering in the small room, glancing the snow out of the corner of her left eye, seeing it fall with vigor and shame, sticking to the window and chilling the room even more. "Just rest."

"I...."

_"Somewhere over the rainbow...."_

And he was gone.

**Author's Note:**

> I was originally going to cut it up into two chapters. Problem with that is that the preferable cut off point would've made the second chapter significantly shorter than the first (under 1000 words). Moreover, finding an ending point with this story while also trying to keep open opportunities to allow for _other_ stories to pile onto and evolve from this one was _insanely_ difficult - and I'm still not quite satisfied with the ending.
> 
> I hope you all liked it anyway :)


End file.
